I Don't Want To

I know, I know... My first blog in a couple months. *takes bow*

Recently, I've had some conversations with some friends about household chores they despise. My roommate hates taking out the trash with a passion. I hate weeding.
Another friend hates to cook (to them, it's a chore).

Growing up, the chore everyone hated was doing the dishes. When it came time to clean up, there was a race to the dishwasher to unload it because it meant that whomever reached it and unloaded it first didn't have to load. I've lived on my own for almost 9 years now and in my own house, I don't mind doing the dishes. I actually feel better when the kitchen's clean and I find I don't complain about my roommates so much because they leave dirty dishes if I just do them. Today I was thinking about what changed and realized what it was when I went over to my parents' house this morning.
In my parent's house, there is always a right way and a wrong way to do things (I think that's where my perfectionism stems). It's not enough just to do the dishes, but you have to do them right. If you look the word "right" up in a dictionary in my parents' house, it says, "Right = The way dad would do it if he had done it." Now granted, there is a correct way of doing the dishes and there is a difference between wiping the counter and cleaning the counter, but listening to my dad talk with my brother about the incorrect way he did the dishes last night, I realized that, growing up, we used to get in trouble for doing the dishes. He would make us feel guilty about doing the chore. He has gotten much better in handling these things, but I believe I can tie all hatred of communal household chores back to doing them wrong at my parents' house.
Now, I load the dishwasher any way I want to... I even put cups on the bottom rack!!! I know, I'm such a rebel. When I pull my weeds, I pull some flowers sometimes just because I can. When I do my laundry, I make sure to separate the colors from the whites and use cold water on the colors and bleach on the whites because, really, what kind of rebel has pink underwear and faded clothes?

What chore do you despise?